He was starting to know her well enough to know she probably did have an idea, and it probably was good. But something in him, something he really didn’t understand, made him hope that this loser guy wasn’t Dylan’s father. He wasn’t sure why he felt that way.
Out of pity for Dylan if that was the case?
Or maybe he was starting to like the idea of Dylan being his?
Chapter Eight
By the time they reached the complex, Liza had fully composed herself, forcing herself to pay attention to the surroundings, avoiding crowds as they walked briskly across town. She could not afford to get emotional about this yet. Not ever.
“All right, we need a plan of action,” Nate said as they neared the destination.
“I told you, I have a plan for dealing with him.”
“Not alone. Not with some guy who’s been described as a douche-bag.”
“I can handle a douche-bag. My goal hasn’t changed, Nate. I want a signed Termination of Parental Rights so that no one has a claim to Dylan.” But that wasn’t all, and she had to admit that. “I also want the truth about who he is. Someday, I’m going to have to tell Dylan.”
As he nodded, his expression grew darker, maybe realizing just how difficult a conversation that would be, no matter what was said. “That’s why you got so worked up in the restaurant.”
“This whole situation has me worked up,” she confessed. “The sooner I have answers, the better.”
“Then let’s go.” He led her through the open gate to the Conch Harbor apartment complex, both of them pausing to take in the half-dozen white stucco buildings with beaten barrel tile rooftops.
“This is it,” Nate said. “I’ve been here before.”
He was that sure? “Wasn’t it dark that night?”
“Pitch, but I came back the next day, remember? I called the limo driver and had him bring me back, but I couldn’t find her anywhere, and I even looked through all the mailboxes. No Bailey Banks. And before you ask, no, I didn’t go to the apartment manager. I was trying to stay on the down low, but I really did look for her.”
Having walked through town with him, she understood. “She was living with this Munson guy,” Liza said. “Maybe her name wasn’t on the mailboxes.”
“Maybe. I know I tried to find her.”
“Why did you, anyway? You said she wasn’t your type.”
He steered her toward the main building, where there was a bank of outdoor mailboxes for every building. “She took pictures,” he said after a long beat. “Actually, a video.”
Liza almost tripped, stopping cold on the sidewalk to stare at him. “Like of you guys...” She couldn’t help making a face. “You mean a sex tape?”
He looked away. “I wanted to get it from her before she did anything stupid with it, like send it to the media.”
Liza felt her eyes widen. “Did she?”
“The tape never surfaced, and I forgot about it until I saw her picture in that journal. It’s not possible you have it, is it?”
“I doubt it. I got rid of all her stuff, and I don’t remember any cameras in her belongings. She used her phone to take pictures.”
“Let’s hope that camera and what was on it is long destroyed,” he said when they reached the mailboxes.
As they started to peruse the residents’ names, Liza gathered up the courage to make a simple request. “Listen, if we find him, I have to talk to him alone.”
Nate looked up from a row of boxes, frowning. “Why?”
“Because if he sees you, it’ll change everything. Who knows how he’ll react to you? He won’t know me, but he’ll know you. I want the truth, and I have the best shot of getting it if I’m alone.”
He didn’t answer but turned back to the mailboxes. In a few moments, he tapped one. “Got it. J. Munson, unit 335. That’s probably building three, third floor, unit five.”
“Okay. Wait here for me.” She started off, but he snagged her elbow.
“Liza.” He turned her. “What’s your plan?”
“Besides brilliant?” She gave him her most dazzling smile. “I’m going to dangle money in front of him.”
He slid his sunglasses off, his look stern. “Let me assure you from personal experience, that is not a smart thing to do. A blackmailer never goes away, ever. They get their teeth in you and will suck you dry.”
“Blackmail?” She laughed softly. “I’m so much more creative than that.” She tried to ease her arm out of his grasp, but he held tight. “What is it, Nate?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But...” He swallowed and took a slow breath. “I guess I was starting to get used to the idea.”
“Of Dylan? You’d be disappointed if Dylan wasn’t yours?” She couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice. “I’d think you’d jump for joy.”
A little war waged behind his eyes, tawny brown darkening to something deeper and quite powerful. “I don’t like the idea of you going up to this guy’s apartment alone.”
But that wasn’t what was bothering him, was it? She didn’t want to argue, though. “Then stay close by but out of sight. I’ll text you if I’m in trouble.” She managed to slip out of his grasp, but he got her other shoulder and pulled her close.
For a moment, she was certain he was going to kiss her. She stayed still, looking at him, waiting for it, but he just shook his head. “Be careful.”
“I will be.” She stepped away and darted toward building three, not turning but knowing Nate wasn’t far behind. Up the open stairs that led to each floor, Liza tried to forget him and remember the plan she’d hatched when they were talking with the waitress. She’d gotten enough clues about this guy to feel certain this would work.
At the top landing, a sign pointed left to units four and five, so she turned the corner, following the wall on her left and the railing open to the courtyard below on her right. She rounded the bend, smacking right into a man hustling the other way.
“Oh, shit, damn.” Papers—mail, it looked like—went flying, along with more curses.
“I’m so sorry,” Liza said, as the man bent over to grab some envelopes. “Really, sorry.”
She helped, glancing at the return address as she scooped up what had fluttered away. J.B. Munson. Bingo. And with a middle initial to add credibility, too.